‘Well, then.’
‘There is no need to look so smug,’ he growled.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she said, although she couldn’t help smiling as she said it. ‘It is just that, having grown up in an army that always seemed to be on the move, I am perhaps more used than you to the thought of walking anywhere I wish to go, as well as having more experience of adapting to adversity than you seem to.’
There—that had been said in a conciliating manner, hadn’t it?
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Well, you said yourself that your life has been rather dull and unpredictable up to now. Obviously I assume I am more used to thinking on my feet than you.’
‘Ah.’ He gave her a measured look. ‘Strange though it may seem, I do not regard my time with you as being one of unalloyed adversity, exactly. And thinking on my feet is...’ He paused. ‘Exactly the kind of challenge I was looking for when I set out. So, instead of regarding the loss of my horse as a problem, I agree—we could look upon it as the perfect excuse for taking a stroll through what looks to be a rather lovely part of the countryside.’
Now he was catching on.
‘And having a picnic?’ she suggested. ‘Instead of having to eat in yet another stuffy inn.’
‘A picnic...’ he said, his eyes sliding to her takings. ‘We would only need to purchase a bit of bread, some cheese, and an apple or two.’
‘And what with it being market day,’ she added, ‘there will be plenty of choice. Which generally means bargains.’
‘I shall take your word for it,’ he muttered.
‘You won’t have to. Until you have seen an army brat haggle over half a loaf and a rind of cheese you haven’t seen anything,’ she informed him cheerfully.
And then wished she hadn’t. For he was looked at her in a considering manner that had her bracing herself for some kind of criticism. Hadn’t Aunt Charity always said that her life in the army was not a suitable topic of conversation—indeed, forbidden her ever to mention it?
‘Then lead on,’ he said, picking up his valise in one hand and crooking his other arm for her to take. ‘And haggle to your heart’s content.’
She let out her breath in a whoosh of relief. And took his arm with pleasure. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had allowed her to be herself, let alone appeared to approve of it.
It felt as if she were stepping out of an invisible prison.
* * *
Morals, Gregory decided some time later that day, could be damned inconvenient things to possess. For if he didn’t have so many of them he could be making love to Miss Prudence Carstairs instead of engaging only in stilted conversation.
He’d been thinking about making love to her ever since she’d flung back her head and started singing. That rich, melodious voice had stroked down his spine like rough velvet. And had made him see exactly why sailors leaped into the sea and swam to the rock on which the Sirens lived. Not that she’d been intentionally casting out lures, he was sure. For one thing she’d been covered from neck to knee by his jacket, whereas the Sirens were always depicted bare-breasted.
Ah, but he knew that her breasts were unfettered beneath his jacket and her gown. He had her stays in his valise to prove it. Which knowledge had given him no option but to take himself off for a brisk walk while reciting the thirteen times table. Fortunately he’d just about retained enough mental capacity to keep half an eye on her, and had made it to her side before those three drunken young fops had done more than give her a bit of a fright.
He’d have liked to have given them a fright. How dared they harass an innocent young woman? A woman under his protection? He could cheerfully have torn them limb from limb.
Though who, his darker self had kept asking, had appointed him her guardian? To which he had replied that he’d appointed himself. And he knew of no higher authority.
Besides, what else was he to do after the way she’d rushed to him and hugged him and said she’d never been so pleased to see anyone in her life? Nobody had ever been that pleased to see him. He hadn’t known how to react. And so he’d stood there, stunned, for so long that eventually she had flinched away, thinking he hadn’t liked the feel of her arms round him.
Whereas the truth was that he’d liked her innocent enthusiasm for him far too much. Only his response had been far from innocent. Which put him in something of a dilemma. She wasn’t the kind of girl a man could treat as a lightskirt. For one thing she came from the middling classes. Every man knew you didn’t bed girls from the middling classes. One could bed a lower class girl, for the right price. Or conduct a discreet affair with a woman from the upper classes, who’d think of it as sport.